


Devil's Night

by sasha_b



Series: Live By The Sword [19]
Category: King Arthur (2004), Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-29 06:08:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1001914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of the <i>Live by The Sword ‘verse.  </i>Set following <i>Make Believe </i>in this same series.  Halloween comes to Los Angeles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devil's Night

**Author's Note:**

> Movie lines from **The Crow** by James O'Barr.

 

_  
_

_It can't rain all the time._

“Fuck off, Eric Draven,” Arthur mumbled through a mouthful of keys and mail, his hands full of bags from the store, “apparently in Los Angeles it can.”

_Teaches me to watch old movies and get melancholy._

Three days straight of rain – and after the three day weekend he and Lance had had in Monterey, the dreary sky and fat, angry clouds seemed almost a punishment.  Arthur had a sneaking suspicion that someone had it in for him.

“Did you get the stuff?”

The door to Arthur’s loft sprang open, Lancelot bounding out quickly, grabbing the plastic bags from Arthur and dashing back inside before he could get too wet.  Arthur stood on the stoop, hair streaming, mail hanging from his mouth, keys finally falling to the ground.  “I’m fine, thank you.  Just got a little wet.  You and your damn nostalgic ideas.  Do you honestly think anyone’s going to come here?  It’s been pissing rain for days now.”

He stomped inside, slamming the door, setting the mail and his keys down on the small shelf built into the wall.  Shedding his raincoat, he shivered and made his way to the kitchen quickly, putting on coffee immediately.  Lancelot was unloading the bags from the grocers, smiling at some, frowning at others.  “Ugh.  Licorice?  Arthur, no one likes this stuff,” Lance said, setting the bag aside.  His teeth flashed at the sight of peanut butter cups.  “These, however, _everyone_ loves.  Including me.”

“I would never have known that,” Arthur muttured, waiting for his drink to finish brewing, “if only you hadn’t told me four hundred times.  And it’s the cherry licorice,” he snapped louder, “people do like that.  Including me.”

Lancelot snorted, and finished unpacking the groceries, putting away the things that would melt or get hot.  He wandered over to Arthur, who was sipping his coffee, his eyes closed, a small shiver still going through him ocassionally.  Lance smiled, waiting until Arthur was finished with his current sip, and pulled the mug out of his hands, setting it on the counter.  “Hey,” the other man said, annoyance making his eyebrows come together, “I’m not finished with that.”

“It’s a wonder you sleep at all, Castus,” Lancelot commented, a small smirk crossing his face, arms going around Arthur’s middle.  He tucked his face into the crook of Arthur’s neck, taking a deep breath of the other man, his smile getting wider.

“You smell like rain.”

Arthur laughed, his own arms settling around Lance.  “I wonder why,” he replied, his hair still dripping slightly.  “You honestly think kids will come here?”

Lancelot shrugged, his words muffled slightly by his proximity to Arthur’s neck.  “I don’t know, Arthur.  I just wanted to have some stuff just in case.”

“I know.  It’s alright,” Arthur answered, sighing contently as he began to relax with Lance wrapped around his cold body.  “I didn’t mind.  I just don’t see too many children in this neighborhood on a normal day.  It seemed a somewhat odd request, and I didn’t know you liked Halloween.”

Lance stiffened in his arms, and pulled back.  “Not everyone has a family that celebrates holidays, Arthur,” he bit off, moving out of the embrace totally, “I wanted the kids who were lucky enough to get to come out to have something.”  He walked away from Arthur, who swore inwardly at himself.  He knew Lance and Guin's family hadn’t been big on traditional celebrations; Roland Benoit had been heard upon ocassion to make fun of his children for wanting to do something so ‘common,’ as to dress up for Halloween.  Come to think of it, Arthur hadn’t seen either of them dressed for school parties or neighborhood ones either as they were growing up.

“Lance,” he sighed as he followed the other man into the main room, where they could see the rain pouring in sheets from the sky, the clouds dark and angry.  The blinds were open onto the large porch, and Lance stood at the sliding door, one hand raised to rest on the thick glass that separated him from the outside – and Arthur had to shake his head at the image that rose in his mind, that of Lancelot as some poor prince trapped in a tower with no doors, just one small window allowing him to see everything he couldn’t have.  God, but sometimes he hated Roland Benoit so badly it made his teeth ache.

“It’s okay, Arthur,” the other man said softly, “I’m old enough to try and accept the things that happened to me as a child.  I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”  But he didn’t turn from the window; he stayed gazing at the nasty weather, and kept his forehead pressed to the glass.

Arthur stood behind him, his hands on Lance’s shoulders, his cheek against Lance’s.  He didn’t say anything, merely stared out at the dark with the other man, and watched the weak and watery sun disappear finally into the earth, the violence and power of the storm seeming to eat the sorry and tiny light.

“Open the door,” Arthur said suddenly.  Lance turned, his expression unreadable, but his eyes bright red and shining.  “What?  Why?” he asked.  “Just do it,” Arthur said, a small smile masking his intentions.  Lance frowned.  “But we’ll get wet.”

“Yep,” Arthur answered, smile still firmly in place.  He slid open the glass door, the blinds blowing with the power of the wind, and stepped out into the rain, his hands instinctively raising to protect his head.  With some effort of willpower he dropped them, and moved to the railing, his plants and one windchime blowing around him.  He turned and grinned through the water running down his face.  His clothing was instantly soaked, and he thought briefly that he should have removed his expensive shoes – but it was too late now.  “Come on,” he called over the noise of the storm, “you won’t melt, will you?”

A tentative smile crossed the other man’s features, and he stepped outside, a small yelp making it’s way out him as he was also instantly soaked.  “Castus – either I’ve totally gone insane, or I love you enough to do anything stupid you ask me too.”  He ran quickly to the railing next to Arthur, who was standing with his legs slightly apart, his arms bent and raised into the air.  “Come on,” Arthur repeated as Lance tried to shelter under a large ficus, “it’s just water.  It won’t hurt you.”

_It won’t hurt you.  It’s just water._

Taking a step so he was out from under the tree, Lance stood next to Arthur, his eyes closing briefly, his hair hanging in his face as the last part of him was drenched.  “You ever play in the rain as a kid?” Arthur shouted.  Lance opened his eyes, and grinned.  “You kidding?  I think Guin and I had personal umbrella handlers before they were trendy.”

“Well, then,” Arthur replied, spreading his hands wider and moving back from Lancelot, “come see what you missed.”

And he splashed off around the corner, the lightning and thunder almost covering his laughter.

Almost.

“Damn it,” Lance gritted through his clenched jaw, “if he can do it – especially in those damn Italian shoes…”

He raced after Arthur, careening around the corner of the balcony, almost smashing into Arthur’s back, not having seen him stop.

“What?”

“Look,” Arthur said quietly, pointing to the street.  “You were right.”

Lance followed Arthur’s pointing finger, and the corner of his eyes crinkled as he smiled; there was a small but hardy group of kids making their way down the block, going to each loft, ringing the bell, their screams of ‘trick or treat!’ reaching his ears easily, even over the storm.

“They’re almost here, Arthur,” he said breathlessly, “we have to answer the door-“

He sped back inside, leaving the sliding door open so the other man could follow him, which Arthur did after a moment of watching the children.

“Hardy little things,” he murmured.

*

“Trick or – “

The children stared at Lancelot, who was dripping wet, a huge smile plastered on his face.  Arthur stood a distance behind him, his hand covering his mouth.

“Mister … you can get an umbrella for cheap at the grocers,” one ghost told him matter of factly.  Arthur turned his laugh into a cough – but Lance didn’t hear him.

“I’ll remember that, thank you, Casper,” Lance replied, still smiling. 

“Who’s Casper?” the kid whispered loudly to his friend.  Arthur kept watching.  “Okay, guys,” Lance told them, “you are the lucky ones who get to pick whatever you want.”  He held out the bags of candy.  “Peanut butter?  MnM’s?  Snickers?”

The children went wild, taking almost all of the sweet stuff that Arthur had bought.  Lancelot took the time to admire each one’s costume, and they preened like doves at his words of praise.

The last boy to take candy was dressed like a policeman.  Lancelot cocked an eyebrow as the child fished around for some favorite treat.  “And what are you?” Lance asked him.

“Duh, mister.  A cop,” the kid said, frowning at the (obviously) silly man that was handing him candy.  He pointed to the badge on his chest and his tall boots.  “The best kind.”

“Yeah?  And what kind is that?” Lance asked him.  The kid grinned.

“Motorcycle cop!”

And he grabbed for some more candy, then bounded down the stairs as Arthur burst into laughter, unable to keep it in.

*

“Motorcycle cop,” Lancelot groused, one of Arthur’s robes wrapped around him, the towel in his hands damp from drying his hair, which now stuck up in crazy curls all over his head.  Arthur reentered the main room, his own robe tied around his waist, two cups of hot coffee in his hands.  “Here,” he said, handing one to Lancelot, “it’s decaf, don’t worry,” he smiled at the other man.  Sitting down on the couch, he kicked his bare feet up, and switched on the tv, which was showing some old black and white Frankenstein movie.  He settled down more comfortably, sipping his drink, eyes trained on the tv.

“Motorcycle cop?”

“I’m not one anymore, you know,” Arthur commented, mouth still twitching slightly, “that was only the first few months.”

“Weapons specialists are much better,” Lancelot added, nodding to himself, taking a few sips of coffee, then laying his head on Arthur’s lap.  Arthur's hands drifted to his hair, tangling in the damp strands there.

“If you say so,” Arthur replied, his comfort level beginning to rise again. 

_When are we going to fuck it up?_

He shook his head, and drove the thought from his mind.

They watched the old movie in silence for awhile, Arthur’s fingers playing with Lancelot’s hair until the younger man was almost asleep.

“Arthur?”

“Hmmm?”

“You know what kind of candy that boy took?”

Arthur thought a moment, then shook his head.  “Peanut butter?”

“The damn licorice.”

Arthur’s laughter shook them both.

 


End file.
